Part 31 (1/2)

”Against a city dead set on burning itself to the ground?” Samantha shook her head as they walked into a musty-smelling building. ”No, we can't take any chances.”

”The riots won't reach here. We won't let them.”

Samantha still retained her uneasiness. Blinking her eyes to adjust to the bright interior, she took in the s.p.a.ce that was their safe house for the time being. Strykers wearing the white scrubs of doctors and psi surgeons milled around inside, handing out bunks for the telepaths a.s.signed to London. Samantha declined a bed or couch, not liking the looks of the ones she pa.s.sed, and instead took up position in the kitchen. She and Kristen claimed a small table with four chairs. Kristen immediately folded her arms over the tabletop and rested her head on them, body canted at a sharp angle.

She gave her sister a sharp smile before closing her eyes. ”It'll be brilliant, Sammy-girl.”

Samantha sat down under Jael's watchful eye, not protesting when a nurse started to hook her up to a monitoring machine. ”Remember your orders, Kristen.”

”Don't worry. Lucas won't feel a thing.”

PART EIGHT.

Ascension.

SESSION DATE: 2128.02.17.

LOCATION: Inst.i.tute of Psionics Research.

CLEARANCE ID: Dr. Amy Bennett.

SUBJECT: 2581.

FILE NUMBER: 160.

”Should we fear you?” the doctor asks.

The child shrugs and picks at the lace on her white sock. She is kneeling on the chair and hooks a finger beneath the strap of one s.h.i.+ny black shoe as she stares around the room. ”I think you already do.”

”This is only a precaution. Do you consider yourself dangerous, Aisling?”

She wrinkles her nose at the doctor. ”I'm four.”

”You don't act it sometimes.”

Aisling shrugs again and settles more comfortably on the chair, her feet swinging freely through the air after she s.h.i.+fts position. ”I can't help that. I can't help what I see.”

The woman settles a hand over her datapad, leans forward, and offers up a smile. It doesn't reach her eyes, barely curls her lips. ”You're the first person we've found who has a one hundred percent accuracy rating. We need that. We need you.”

Aisling tilts her head to the side, the way any inquisitive child would. ”You don't need me, you need my dreams. But they aren't for you.”

THIRTY-NINE.

SEPTEMBER 2379.

PARIS, FRANCE.

Nathan was in the launch command room, in the middle of a conversation with the head of operations, when the security grid around Paris pinged with numerous threats. The chatter in the command room picked up, growing louder with every second that pa.s.sed.

”Those aren't confirmed routes.”

”Sir, no one is answering our hails.”

”Someone get those jets scrambled!”

Nathan took one look at the targeted ma.s.s of dots drifting closer to the ruined city on the hologrid map before abruptly turning on his feet and leaving the room. The hallway that separated the command room from the rest of the boarding facilities of the building was filled only with scattered government employees. It wasn't private, but it was empty enough for what he needed to do.

The four Warhounds masquerading as soldiers in a quad followed him out and stood guard when Nathan put his back against the wall. He closed his eyes and sent his mind skimming across the mental grid, picking up Warhound telepaths and dragging them into a merge. Bolstered by external power, Nathan allowed himself to reach for the cl.u.s.ter of buzzing thoughts that were getting closer with every second that pa.s.sed. A mora.s.s of psi signatures. .h.i.t his leading mental s.h.i.+elds, and Nathan abruptly pulled back, retreating in a way that snapped pain through his head when he opened his eyes.

”Sir?” the Warhound to his left asked. ”What's wrong?”

”Confirm the numbers we have on-site for Warhounds,” Nathan said in a low voice.

”The last groups are still flying in. They number a little over one hundred. On-site? We've got two hundred Warhounds still waiting to board and about fifty already on their a.s.signed s.p.a.ce shuttles. Everyone else is already en route to the Ark or on board the colony s.h.i.+p.”

Nathan calculated the odds. Three hundred of his Warhounds, half of them higher-Cla.s.sed psions, were already in s.p.a.ce and unavailable for this fight. Nathan had staggered the exits of Warhound teams, knowing that things would be going to h.e.l.l during such a shortened transfer time frame. He ground his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose as he picked through his options.

”Get them off those s.p.a.ce shuttles and out of this building. I want them on the streets and ready to fight right now. That's Lucas flying in with Strykers and we need to be ready.” Nathan gestured at the hallway they were in. ”Send me all the Cla.s.s VI and higher telepaths and empaths we have on-site. Tell them to prepare for merging.”

One of the Warhounds nodded sharply at the order, and Nathan headed for the command room. He pulled his suit jacket straight as he walked back into chaos. The grating static of human thoughts beat against his mental s.h.i.+elds as he took up his post next to the command terminal manned by the head of operations.

”Jets are confirming no response from those shuttles, sir,” someone told the man in charge. ”We're starting to lose uplinks with the jets as they approach the targets.”

”What do you mean we're losing uplinks?” the government officer demanded.

”They're disappearing from the security grid.”

”Do we have a visual?”

”Negative.”

”Why the h.e.l.l not? Get me that G.o.dd.a.m.n visual!” The a.s.sistant ran off to obey and Nathan took his place. The officer didn't look up from his terminal. ”You shouldn't be here, sir. Grab a quad and have them take you to the s.p.a.ce shuttle we're readying for launch. We need to get you off this planet.”